Warbler Phobias
by Glasz Wingsz
Summary: *Written for livejournal prompt*  5 things various Warblers are afraid of and how they react when faced with these fears.  *Rated T, though there is mention of homosexual relationships, so if you are offended by that, please don't read*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.**

**"blah" – talking**

**'blah' – thinking**

**_blah_ – flashback**

* * *

><p>Kurt knew they'd hadn't meant anything by it. This was Dalton, not McKinley. The students here were kind, and genuinely caring. They didn't throw him into dumpsters; they didn't viscously pelt him with flavoured, frozen ice shards. Dalton Academy was truly a safe haven, thanks to its zero-tolerance bullying policy. So Kurt knew that his fellow Warblers hadn't intended to hurt him when they'd locked both himself and Blaine into the small closet. <p>

That didn't make it any easier, though. Blaine didn't seem any more than exasperated, and was calmly pleading with his friends to let them out. At the moment, Kurt wasn't sure he could manage to form words – he was struggling to breathe as it was. The closet wasn't very big and filled with boxes of sheet music, but with Blaine and Kurt in it, there was hardly any room to move. Kurt could feel Blaine's arm rubbing against his shoulder. 

He could faintly hear his friends laughing outside. He knew they hadn't known he was claustrophobic, but he still couldn't help feeling furious at them. 

Blaine had stopped yelling, seeming to realise that they weren't going to be let out anytime soon. He looked over in Kurt's direction now, noticing his friend hadn't said anything. Now that he was paying closer attention, he could hear Kurt's heavy breathing, growing quicker with every minute. He could feel the slight tremors through their connected arms. Apart from that, Kurt wasn't moving. 

"Kurt, I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want me to," he tried to reassure his friend, misunderstanding his reaction. "The other guys – they don't know what you went through – don't hate them…C'mon, Kurt, say something". 

Kurt tried to pay attention to what Blaine was saying, but he couldn't get his mind off the fact that he was surrounded by six, very solid, very near walls. He didn't dare reach out, not wanting to feel how closed-in the closet was. Kurt heard Blaine shuffle next to him and then he felt something clamp down on his shoulder. He jumped violently, momentarily forgetting that it was just Blaine locked in here with him and letting his imagination run free, conjuring up all sorts of nightmarish ideas.  
>Wanting to escape from the foreign limb, he tried to twist away, but was stopped by the solid walls. <p>

And that was when the hopelessness of his situation really hit. He knew he was starting to breathe faster, and he could feel the liquid building up in his eyes, but he was too busy feeling around him, looking for a way out of this hell. No matter which way he turned, there was only solid wood beneath his hands. He was going to die in here, enclosed in this tiny, wooden box – just like a coffin. He knew he was panicking and wasting precious air – who knew how long until they ran out. 

'I can't breathe…I…I can't breathe…' 

"Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong?" Blaine sounded panicked, which definitely didn't help Kurt's dilemma. 

Blaine tried to reach out to his new friend again, but Kurt slapped his hands away. He could hear Kurt breathing fast – too fast – and whimpering quietly. He tried to put his arms around him, if just to stop him from hurting himself, but Kurt wouldn't be contained. He wanted out. 

Blaine would willing admit to being scared when Kurt started screaming, begging with the other Warblers to let him out, and frantically pushing against the closet door. Occasionally, he would hit or kick out at the other walls surrounding them. He was wild, out-of-control. Nothing Blaine said could calm him down. Outside, the Warblers thought it was nothing more than an elaborate ploy, never once considering that Kurt really was in trouble. 

Kurt seemed to run out of energy after five minutes of violent behaviour. He slumped against the door, weakly pushing at it with his thin arms. His breathing was getting worse, Blaine noticed, and every now and then he would let out something that sounded like a mix between a whimper and a moan. Blaine was just as frightened of this behaviour as he was of the chestnut-headed boy's earlier actions. 

He'd brought Kurt to Dalton to help him heal. He knew the Warblers didn't mean anything nasty by their actions, but he knew right now, Kurt needed help. He wanted to protect the countertenor; wanted to hold him in his arms and keep him safe from the rest of the world; wanted to be his rock, his constant support. He couldn't stand to listen to Kurt, crying and hyperventilating not even a foot away and not be able to reach out and console him. 

He started to bang on the closet door, shouting out to the Warblers, desperately trying to make them understand. 

* * *

><p>"Guys, maybe this isn't such a good idea…" Jeff's anxious voice rose over the muffled noise of Blaine's cries. <p>

"They'll be fine," Nick replied, even though he didn't sound so sure. 

"Jeff, if you open that door, you will be held solely responsible for the failure of operation Klaine," Wes warned with a rap of his beloved gavel. 

"Oh God, no! If I have to sit through anymore of their flirty duets, their overall adorability or their god-damned obliviousness, **you do NOT want to know what will happen**. The sexual tension is so thick, you need a...Jeff?...WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Thad almost screamed, racing to get up from his position behind the desk and reach Jeff in time. 

Jeff, who had moved towards the closet, stopped and looked back, just in time to be roughly tackled to the ground by a navy and red blur that resembled one Senior Warbler council member. 

"NEVER!" Okay, Thad did scream this time. 

In the startled silence that followed, there was an ominous click. Thad's head lashed up to see Nick standing near the closet, hand on the handle and wearing a Cheshire cat grin. Thad was just about to scream outrage at the junior Warbler when two forms tumbled desperately out of the cupboard and fell to the floor. 

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't know how long he'd been pushing against the door; he didn't even know how long he'd been in this damn closet. He'd lost his voice a while back due to the screaming. His knuckles ached from where he'd hit them repeatedly on the walls. Next to him, Blaine had realised shouting was futile, and had slumped down into the corner as best he could. Every few minutes, he tried to reassure Kurt, but the brown-haired diva couldn't make sense of what he was saying, so preoccupied was he with trying to force himself to calm down and not think about the bleakness of his situation. <p>

Next thing he knew, the door was swinging open and he all, but fell out. He tripped over his own feet in his rush to escape, and tumbled gracefully to his knees. He tried to gulp in air in between his desperate sobs, tears falling to splash against the decorated marble floor like tiny crystals breaking into sparkling shards. 

He felt arms trying to wrap around him, and he reacted without thinking. He cried out, frantically pushing away the incoming person. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling away from the surrounding bodies of the Warblers. He needed space, damnit! He didn't want to be hugged and comforted if it meant being trapped in someone's arms. 

"…Kurt…". 

Blaine's voice. Filled with sympathy. Or was it pity? Before his friend could say anymore, Kurt was moving, crashing through the double doors and sprinting down the hallway. He took a left turn, then another left and then a right, never slowing down, looking anxiously for a way out. His breathing was ragged, sounding loudly in his own ears, accompanied by his footsteps on the slippery marble floor.  
>And suddenly LIGHT! and he was bursting through another set of double doors, but these ones much bigger and leading out into glorious openness. <p>

Kurt kept running, almost tripping down the stairs, until he reached a moderately large, open section of lawn, free from overshadowing trees. He stopped, panting harshly. Finally beginning to calm down, he raised his face to the sky, taking in the giant, never-ending expanse of blue. He stretched his arms out the side, and waved them up and down a bit, as if to prove to his panicked mind that he really was free. Feeling the air slip between his spread fingertips never felt better.  
>He flopped down on his back and just laid there, content to stare at the sky for the rest of the afternoon; classes be damned. <p>

Kurt wasn't sure how long he laid there, just staring up at the massive, unmarred canvas of blue, losing himself in its enormity, slowly calming. Eventually he felt another body lie down beside his, but far away enough so as not to freak him out again. Casually, he tilted his head to the side and was met with Blaine's warm, gold-hazel eyes. Blaine smiled gently at him, but Kurt could see the question in his eyes. 

'Are you alright?' they seemed to ask. 

Kurt smiled back, letting it reach his eyes. He knew he needed to explain to Blaine, at least. And he probably owed the Warblers an apology for his shocking behaviour. Blaine reached out his hand and lightly touched Kurt's fingers, as if asking if that was okay. Kurt's breath hitched, but he immediately calmed himself and gripped Blaine's hand loosely. 

"You know I was bullied at my old school". 

Blaine nodded, not saying anything. 

"Well, I got tossed into dumpsters a lot – almost every morning for one year. Sometimes they shut the lid on me. I guess…I just developed it from then. The claustrophobia, I mean". 

"Oh, Kurt, I'm so sorry you had to go through that…but you're here now. You're away from all that," Blaine reassured, as his thumb soothingly rubbed circles into his friend's palm. "You have to know that none of the students here are like that. They would never deliberately hurt you. 

The guys feel terrible about this whole thing, you know…". 

"I'm okay now. I know they didn't know. It…it wasn't their fault". 

They were both silent for a while after that, admiring the nature around them. Blaine soon broke the silence. 

"So do you want to go back to class?". 

Kurt looked like he was considering it, but then he rolled his head to the side to look at Blaine again, and smiled. "I think I'm gonna stay here a bit more, but you can go if you need to". 

"Nah, hope you don't mind, but you're stuck with me for the rest of the afternoon". 

Kurt chuckled, before returning his gaze to the sky and ever-so-slightly tightening his grip on the fingers clasped in his. "Somehow, I think I'll manage".


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.**

**"blah" – talking**

**'blah' – thinking**

**_blah_ – flashback**

* * *

><p>Nestled comfortably in his boyfriend's arms, cuddling together on the bed, Kurt languidly reached up a hand and traced it gently over the slight stubble growing on Blaine's chin. Blaine leaned into the touch and let out a contented sigh, his hazel eyes slipping shut.<p>

"You might need a shave soon, hon," Kurt chuckled, hand still rubbing soothingly over the soloist's jaw.

Blaine only nuzzled further into Kurt, refraining from replying. Kurt simply smiled at his adorable boyfriend and settled down again, enjoying the moment. They eventually drifted off to sleep, still wrapped around each other.

* * *

><p>Blaine knew he needed to do something about the facial hair that was making itself known for the first time since he hit puberty. He knew Kurt wanted him to get rid of it, if the pack of disposable razors left on his bathroom sink was any clue. Blaine had to admit he wasn't particularly partial to the growing fuzz either, but he'd almost suffered a full panic attack the other day when he'd walked into his small suite and found the pack of razors there. He'd picked them up curiously, but as soon as he'd realised what they were, he'd frozen and they'd slipped from his lax grip.<p>

He'd stood – frozen in place – for almost a half hour, plagued by the sudden influx of brutal memories. He'd only managed to escape when Nick and Jeff had barged into his room, demanding safe sanctuary from Wes and his gavel, and startling him from his trance. He'd ushered his troublesome pair of friends into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and then proceeded to lie to Wes regarding their whereabouts when questioned.

That was a few days ago. The fuzz had grown quicker than he expected and even the school's staff were giving him strange looks. Kurt had threatened to break up with him if he didn't get rid of any and all facial hair. Blaine thought he was joking, but you could never be too sure when it came to his extravagant, little diva. Therefore, Blaine knew what he had to do.

'It really is a stupid fear, anyway. I mean, razors? C'mon, Blaine. Man up'.

Steeling himself, Blaine took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. There. Sitting innocently on the sink bench. A packet of four disposable, tiny razors. Blaine forced himself with dredging slowness to walk up to the bench, despite his increasing breathing rate. He fingers fumbled as he ripped open the packaging. The flimsy plastic tore, and the four little blades scattered onto the floor. He startled, before admonishing himself for the slip.

Choosing to ignore the razors littered around him for the moment, he focused on finding shaving cream. Managing to locate it, he spread it onto his jaw, before bending down to pick up one of the razors. Trying to take deep, calming breaths, Blaine leant up and faced the small mirror above the sink. Gripping the handle tightly and willing his hand to stop shaking, he raised the razor towards his cheek.

His trembling caused his hand to slip on the first pass. He felt a tiny prick of pain, and his eyes were drawn to the sudden dribble of blood rolling down his cream-covered cheek. Blaine froze.

_Red liquid gushed from the violent wounds, coating everything in the morbid colour. Blaine tried to apply more pressure to the towels he was using to cover Brooklyn's arms, but his friend had done his job too well, it seemed. He'd cut both arms, and as soon as Blaine paid more attention to one, the other started to bleed more profusely again. From wrist to elbow, the skin of Brooklyn's arms was savagely ripped to shreds. The bleeding wasn't stopping, but he wasn't going to give up. Brooklyn was his closest – and only – friend. The only other person at this damned school that understood what he was going through._

_'I thought you were stronger than this, Brook. Please – PLEASE – don't give up!'_

_Blaine tried everything to stop the bleeding, but in the end, it was a battle he couldn't win. He knew he was losing when Brooklyn started to wheeze, his breaths becoming shallower. His body was growing lax where it was leant against the bathroom wall; his head slowly lolling to one side. Blaine never stopped fighting for his friend; not when he felt the tears sliding down his own cheeks; not when he felt Brook's body go limp; not even when he glanced up and noticed Brooklyn's glazed eyes staring lifelessly at him._

_His grip must have slipped on the bloody cloth, and the pain woke him from the trance he was in. He retracted his hand from the pain, and quickly looked down to see what had caused it. The razor glinted back in the light, coated red and still wet. It sat in Brooklyn's now cold and still hand, seemingly innocent if not for the red liquid staining its blades and the morbid scene around him. He realised then; that Brooklyn had taken his own life; that Brooklyn was gone; that Brooklyn wasn't coming back. He looked at his friend's face, but the dead eyes scared him now that he was woken from his daze. He raised his own hand to close his dearest friend's eyelids, but the red smudges he left behind made him frown…_

He couldn't escape. He was stuck in the past, reliving the gruesome memory over and over and over again. Hearing the ragged last breaths of one of his dearest friends, seeing the blood – **too much **blood – coating everything and never stopping gushing from those delicate wrists, the skin shredded to pieces. The razor glinted from where it was clutched in Brooklyn's death grip, stained red permanently.

Blaine couldn't see anything, but the scene of his friend's death. He couldn't breathe properly, overwhelmed by the grisly vision.

'Somebody save me…I can't...anybody…'

He was losing himself in the past, frozen in place, staring into his own petrified eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His chest was starting to ache from lack of air; his limbs seemed to have gone numb. The razor had slipped from his hand to land in the basin, a small trail of blood leading from its blade to the sink hole.

This was how Kurt found him, immobile and hardly breathing, his lips beginning to tinge blue.

"Blaine," he gasped in shock and rushed forward.

Kurt grabbed his boyfriend's shoulders and shook him gently. This didn't seem to have any effect, so he forcefully turned the other boy around, his hands raising to land gently on either side of Blaine's head, avoiding the cream on his jaw.

"Blaine! Blaine!" Kurt was starting to get worried now at the lack of breathing from his boyfriend.

"DAMNIT, BLAINE! BREATHE!"

He slapped Blaine, hard, right across his bleeding cheek. Blaine's head swiftly snapped to the side, and his entire body jolted as if being abruptly awoken from a bad dream. He took several huge gasps of air, trying to fill his lungs again after their unwilling suffocation. His head swung around again so he could stare at Kurt with wide eyes. If Kurt wasn't on the verge of a heart attack from the sight he just walked in on, he would have laughed at the sight of his boyfriend – eyes wide, mouth hung limply open, and half his face covered in shaving cream. Instead, he just slowly leant forward to envelope the curly-headed boy in a fierce hug, not caring about the shaving cream spreading to his own cheek. He clung to the solid frame, and tried not to think about what could have happened if he hadn't walked into the bathroom at the precise moment he did.

Kurt was startled from his thoughts when he felt dampness on his shoulder seeping through his clothes. He realised Blaine was shaking and he could hear his desperate panting for air, mingled with the occasional whimper. Kurt quickly pushed himself out of the embrace and searched Blaine's face. His hazel eyes were glazed over with excess liquid, which slid down his cheeks in an almost never-ending stream.

"Oh, Blaine…honey, what's wrong?"

Blaine didn't reply, but his eyes haltingly slid to the discarded razor and he started to cry harder. Kurt followed his gaze to the bloodied blade, and quickly put two and two together. Never letting go of the curly headed boy, he rose to his feet and hefted Blaine up with him. Gently, he guided them from the bathroom and situated them on one of the beds. Blaine seemed to calm down after he was away from the bathroom scene. Leaving him sitting on the edge of the bed, Kurt re-entered the bathroom and retrieved a wash cloth and soaked it. He wiped the bits of shaving cream from his cheek and then went back into the dorm room to help clean Blaine up. After discarding of the cloth, Kurt sat down again, hugging Blaine to him.

Blaine had calmed down a considerable bit now, and Kurt encouraged him to talk again. Haltingly, he did so.

"K…Kurt, I'm so sorry. It's really stupid…I…just…couldn't stop it…"

"Stop what, sweetie?" Kurt interrupted.

"…the…he killed him…self…and I couldn't…I couldn't stop it. And now I'm afraid and…"

Realising what Blaine was trying to say and immediately understanding, Kurt shushed the upset boy.

"You don't need to explain anymore, Blaine. I get it, it's alright, it's okay".

"No! Now, you think I'm a coward and…and…and you're gonna' break up with me coz –

"Blaine! Don't say that! I will never leave you, especially not for some silly reason like that," Kurt felt angry that Blaine thought he was so shallow that he would leave him because of something like that, but he also understood Blaine was scared and not in his right mind. "I love you, Blaine, and I am **never**going to say goodbye to you…"

Blaine didn't reply; he simply sniffled and buried himself in Kurt's arms, resting his head in the crook of his neck. Eventually, the quiet reassurances from Kurt, combined with Kurt's arms encircling him protectively and his hands rubbing up and down his back, lulled Blaine into slumber. Kurt laid him gently down on the bed and pulled one of the sheets overtop him. He leant down to kiss him softly on the forehead, smiling at the mumbled response he got. Then he left to tidy the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Blaine woke hours later to find himself alone in the room. He gazed around the dorm, not noticing anything out of the ordinary until his eyes landed on the plastic package on his bedside table. Curious, he rose and reached towards it. He grinned when he saw what it was. A pack of wax strips – specifically for men, he noted – sat on top of the table. He immediately picked it up and headed for the bathroom, not wanting to risk Kurt's fury.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.**

**"blah" – talking**

**'blah' – thinking**

**_blah_ – flashback**

* * *

><p>When Nick walked into the dorm he shared with Jeff late that night, he didn't expect to see his roommate still awake, much less crouching on top of his desk, wide eyes frozen to a spot in the far corner and clutching a large, heavy textbook. Not sure what to do, Nick paused in the doorway and simply stared at his best friend. Jeff's eyes quickly glanced over to him, before they just as quickly returned to the corner. Nick wasn't sure whether to be amused, annoyed that it was HIS desk Jeff was crouched on, or concerned for the mental wellbeing of the blonde-haired Warbler.<br>Soon after that thought, he chose concerned when he saw the way Jeff's chest seemed to heave frantically and a few tears slipped from his eyes to roll slowly down his pale cheeks. 

He quickly shut the door, and rushed to his friend's side, forgetting the oddity of the position he was in. He gently gripped the blonde's wrists that were raised protectively in front of him. 

"Jeff? Oh my god, what's wrong?" 

Jeff didn't answer the question; he simply pointed one trembling finger in the direction that he was staring. Nick spun around, eyes searching for something, anything, that could cause this sort of reaction in his usually bubbly friend. With the way Jeff couldn't seem to control his uneven breathing, he half expected to find a bloody corpse or something equally disturbing. He was pleasantly surprised though to see the only thing inhabiting the corner was an innocent, quite small – in his personal opinion; it wasn't even as big as his hand – hairy, brown spider. 

He tried not to laugh; he truly did, but after checking the rest of the room for rotting, bloody corpses and finding none, and deducing that the spider really was what had caused this outrageous behaviour in his friend, Nick couldn't help it. He gasped, clutching at his aching sides, trying to stop especially when he saw Jeff risk a quick glare in his direction before returning his eyes to the dreaded monster in the corner. Which was now inching up the wall. 

At the movement from the small, eight legged creature, Jeff visibly flinched and he subconsciously raised the textbook in his hands higher. Nick, who had calmed down considerably from his earlier outburst, burst into laughter again. Deep down he knew he shouldn't make fun of Jeff for his fear, but he couldn't understand how someone could be so frightened of such a little thing. 

"…Nick…" Jeff whimpered, almost choking on the word due to his breathing. 

Nick stopped chuckling and looked seriously over at his friend. Jeff was still crouched on top of the desk and he still held onto the textbook with a death grip, but his breathing had calmed down slightly and he was now looking at Nick, his big doe eyes pleading with him. 

"Nick, can you…can you kill it…please?" 

"Jeff, are you really that scared of it? I mean, c'mon man, I can't kill it – it's not doing anything," Nick tried to argue with his friend, but Jeff just stared at him, tears beginning to pool on his eyes again. Nick sighed heavily. "J, it's prolly not gonna move from there. You'll be fine – look at the size of it compared to you". 

Nick heard Jeff whine in reply, but he had already turned around to get ready for bed. It was late and he was exhausted; he just wanted to sleep and forget about Jeff's silly little fear, so that he'd be moderately awake for tomorrow's classes. Deciding to forgo a shower, he stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the sheets. 

"Get the light, Jeff. I promise if you go to sleep now, you'll still be alive in the morning". 

Nick's soft snores filled the room not long after that, but Jeff didn't move to turn the light off. He cautiously slipped down from the desk and quickly jumped onto his bed, never taking his eyes from the spider. He put the textbook next to his pillow and went to lie down, thinking maybe Nick was right, but then he realised he couldn't see the spider anymore and he hastily sat up again. He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep with that – THING – sitting only ten feet away. If he took his eyes from it for even one second, it would be gone, hidden away until he least expected it. 

Jeff didn't want to be afraid of spiders. He'd tried to kill it when he first entered the dorm and saw it, but before long, he had found himself on top of Nick's desk when the smaller creature had rapidly crawled in his direction. It had then proceeded to slowly creep into the far corner, and since then, Jeff had been working up the courage to just move from his position. He'd really thought Nick would help him, but maybe the brunette teen was right; maybe he was overreacting. 

'There's no logical reason to be afraid of them…I just have to try harder'. 

Easier said than done. Jeff tried to lay down again, but as soon as the corner left his sight, he felt the familiar panic set in. He bolted upright again. Resigning himself to a long and sleepless night, Jeff leant back against the headboard, trying to get moderately comfortable, knowing he wouldn't be able to fall asleep no matter how soft his pillow was. 

* * *

><p>Nick was woken from his restful slumber by an unfamiliar noise. He rolled onto his side, trying to escape, but it persisted. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned over to his other side and looked around the room, trying to locate the distracting sound. He almost gasped at the sight he was met with. <p>

Jeff was crouched on top of his bed, his head almost curled to his knees. He was hugging a pillow and crying harshly…well, more like choking, Nick decided. Even from the opposite side of the room, Nick could see the swift rise and fall of his lithe back, and hear the rapid breathing. He also noticed that Jeff hadn't turned the light off like he'd asked. He immediately felt guilty for thinking that. 

Here he'd been, sleeping peacefully and all this time, it looked like Jeff had been on the verge of a panic attack. He must have been really tired to just ignore his best friend like he did. Slowly waking up and remembering the events of a few hours ago, Nick's feeling of guilt was becoming overwhelming. How out-of-it must he have been to disregard his friend's problems like that? He'd do anything to make it up to the blonde-headed dancer, starting now. 

He quickly and quietly got out of bed and went to sit on Jeff's. The blonde teen didn't even notice – or if he did, he was too busy staring at the same spider. Nick noticed it had left the corner and was slowly creeping closer to the bed. Every time it moved, Jeff would whimper and his breathing would hitch again and the tears would start anew, causing him to choke more. Nick was worried; he'd never seen his friend this distressed. 

At a loss as to what to do – not having been in contact with crying guys often, as a matter of fact – he tentatively put his arm around the slim blonde's shoulders, hand rubbing soothingly up and down the toned bicep. He could feel Jeff trembling. Jeff seemed to sag ever so slightly into his side, but Nick noticed that his eyes never left the multiple-legged shape on the floor nearby. 

"…Nicky?" a raspy voice whispered from his side. 

"Yes Jeffy?" 

"… …can you please, **please** kill it?..." 

Nick paused at that – he hated the idea of having to kill an innocent creature just because it caused fear in someone, but then, he'd never seen Jeff this scared of anything. He knew he needed to do something, so he came up with a compromise. 

"J, I can't kill it, but how about I get rid of it for you? Okay?" 

He felt Jeff hesitantly nod against his chest, and so he loosened his grip around the blonde and rose to resolve the problem. Jeff rose up slightly, trying to keep an eye on the spider which was now very still as the floor reverberated with Nick's footsteps. Nick quickly stepped over the little creature and headed into the bathroom. He returned not even a minute later with a clear, glass jar in one hand and a tin lid in the other. He crept closer to the spider, slowing down a bit when it moved a few inches. Jeff's breath hitched and he recoiled back from the edge of the bed. He warily watched as Nick proceeded to chase the tiny, eight-legged terror with the jar. Every time it moved even one of its legs, Jeff shuddered and whimpered and sobbed. He knew he should look away, but a morbid sense of curiosity kept his eyes bound to the scene playing out before him. 

Eventually, Nick managed to coax the spider into the jar and quickly closed the lid on it. He held the jar up proudly and smiled at Jeff, but then he saw his friend's expression. It was locked on the jar in his hand, and it reflected terror. Nick immediately felt bad again and lowered his hand. 

"Sorry, umm…I'll just take this outside…and be back in a minute". 

He left, taking the monster with him, and Jeff let out a shaky sigh of relief. Now that the cause for his fear was gone, he felt mortally embarrassed. He momentarily entertained the idea of locking Nick out, just to escape the laughter he was sure was coming. 

When Nick re-entered the room, though, he didn't laugh or say anything. He simply took one look at Jeff – still pale and trembling – and sat down next to him again. He raised one hand to ruffle Jeff's hair and then lowered his arm to bring his best friend into a short, one-armed hug. Jeff leant into him, enjoying the comfort and trying to hide his blazing cheeks. After a minute, Jeff extricated himself from the hug and raised his head to smile softly at Nick. Nick returned it. 

"All good now, J?" he waited until Jeff nodded, then continued in a cheeky tone. "Good, 'coz you need as much beauty sleep as you can get". 

He chuckled at his own joke and was relieved when Jeff giggled a little. With that, Nick made his way over to his own bed and settled down, but not before flicking the light switch and sending the room into almost total-darkness. He rolled over to watch as Jeff awkwardly stripped down to his boxers and crawled under the bed covers. Silence reigned over the room for a full minute before… 

"Thank-you". 

Nick smiled, not sure if his friend could see it from across the room. He let his eyelids slip close, and when he answered another minute later, his voice was heavy with the approach of sleep. 

"You're welcome, J". 

* * *

><p>A few days later, Nick and Jeff walked into the Warblers' rehearsal room together. Upon entering they were greeted with the sight of Trent holding up a clear, plastic container and proudly displaying it to a bunch of excited teens. Even from this distance, the two best friends could see the eight, long, hairy legs and the large, black coloured abdomen. Jeff froze to the spot, dragging Nick to a halt with him. His eyes, which were already filling with the promise of tears, were fixed on the container Trent was holding. Trent, noticing his fascination with the container, tried to show it to him. <p>

Unfortunately – fortunately for Jeff – he didn't get much more than a step in the blonde's direction before Nick was striding forward rapidly, snatching the container from his hands and pelting it out the open window nearby. There was complete silence, nobody quite sure what had just transpired. Trent looked ready to cry, but so did Jeff. 

Ignoring the stares he was receiving, Nick grabbed Jeff's frozen arm and led him to one of the double couches lining the walls – the one farthest from the open window, mind you. He plopped himself down and then pulled the blonde Warbler down beside him and guided him to lean against his chest, one arm still around his waist. Jeff didn't say anything, and disregarding of the stares the pair were receiving, he twisted his head to smile at the brunette boy beside him. 

Best. Friend. Ever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.**

**"blah" – talking**

**'blah' – thinking**

**_blah_ – flashback**

* * *

><p>When Nick was only five years old, he'd tried following his older brother up one of the tallest trees in their yard. His foot had missed one of the branches about halfway up, and he'd fallen. He'd managed to hit a few other branches on his way down before brutally contacting with the hard ground. He hadn't had time to process the situation before he'd noticed the agonising pain in his right leg and shoulder. He'd started sobbing loudly, but he didn't dare to move. His brother had quickly and nimbly climbed down and immediately crouched beside him to inspect the damage. Nick couldn't understand a word that he said; his mind couldn't register anything besides the intense, unrelenting pain throbbing in his leg. His entire right arm had gone numb, it seemed, he couldn't feel anything there apart from the aching around his shoulder. <p>

Nick had sobbed harder when his brother had run away, leaving him lying there, in too much pain to even contemplate getting up and trying to follow. It was to Nick's great relief, that not even five minutes later, his brother returned with their mother. She'd taken one look at Nick's leg – which Nick had yet to see – and spoke quick words to her oldest son. Nick's brother had run off again, but his mother had stayed, running comforting hands through his hair and gently brushing away his tears, murmuring comforting words that Nick couldn't understand, but he could imagine. 

Not long after, an ambulance arrived and Nick was loaded onto a stretcher and put into the back of the van. His mother and brother were allowed to go with him, sitting close. The friendly man who sat on his other side carefully inserted a needle into his good arm. Nick flinched a bit, but his mother's warm hand's soothed him. 

He couldn't keep his eyes open much longer after that. He tried, but the drowsy feeling overwhelmed him and he knew nothing after that. 

* * *

><p>When he'd fallen from that tree, he'd managed to break his leg in two places and also dislocate his shoulder. It had been a long and painful recovery. He'd needed crutches to walk, but he hadn't been able to use his right arm for almost two weeks, so he'd been bedridden for a fortnight. Then he'd had to wobble his way around the house and he'd tripped multiple times. Luckily, he hadn't managed to do any further damage. <p>

Ever since then, Nick had been wary when it came to physical activities. He didn't join any of the school sports teams. He claimed illness every time he knew they had PE classes at school. He'd once been coerced into a soccer game with the other Warblers – as a bit of a break from all the rigorous practicing they'd been doing – and he'd spent the entire game avoiding the ball and flinching violently every time someone kicked it into the air or in his general direction. They'd tried to make him goalie, but he'd protested so vehemently that David had agreed to take the position from him. 

Nick didn't even dance in Warblers practice; he left that to Jeff and David, though that didn't mean he didn't almost freak out every time Jeff did a particularly difficult twist or flip. 

If anybody asked him, he would deny that there was something wrong with him. He didn't have a problem; he just preferred to avoid idiotically dangerous situations when possible. It made no sense to him to risk bruises and broken bones just for "a bit of fun". 

* * *

><p>Jeff had been friends with Nick ever since they'd met in first grade. He thought he knew all of Nick's quirks. He knew that Nick worried the most about the Warblers; he'd be the first to act all mother-hen if someone was hurt. He knew Nick didn't like food or drink that was out-of-date; unlike Jeff who would taste it first to be sure, Nick automatically threw the offending food item out. Some people thought Nick was just being snobbish, but over the years, Jeff had noticed other things about his friend that made him think differently. <p>

He'd first noticed during that one soccer game between the Warblers back in junior year. Nick hadn't been very enthusiastic about the idea, and he hadn't participated much. Jeff wasn't sure if anyone else noticed how Nick would flinch and duck every time the ball left the ground. It was like he was afraid of the ball. Jeff had originally thought Nick didn't want to be goalie because he didn't like the position, but now when Jeff though back on it, he was positive it was because of something else. 

Jeff loved to dance, and he was prone to breaking out his moves at random times and in random places. As Jeff's best friend and roommate, Nick was usually present during these random moments. Sometimes, he laughed at Jeff and enviously watched his best friend perform. He never joined in, though. Other times, Nick would bite his lip, frown a little bit and turn away to focus on his schoolwork or something else rather than Jeff's dancing. Jeff had once tried to get Nick to join in, but Nick had viscously yanked his wrist from the blonde boy's grip and snarled in his direction before turning over to continue reading his book. Shocked, Jeff had simply stood where he was for a good minute before he quietly left the room and went to find somewhere else to practice. When he'd returned to their shared dorm, Nick acted like nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened and so Jeff pretended the same. 

But over the years of being friends, Jeff had noticed Nick didn't play any sports. He didn't really participate in ANY physical activity. He ate extremely healthy, but he didn't ever visit the extensive gym that Dalton Academy boasted. Jeff thought he knew all of Nick's quirks, but apparently not. 

* * *

><p>Nick was reclining on his bed, reading a book, when Jeff entered and flung himself down beside his best friend. Nick didn't react and Jeff just laid there for several minutes, enjoying the companionable silence. Eventually, the blonde dancer rolled over and faced his friend. <p>

"Nick? Can I ask you something?". 

"You just did". 

"Haha, very funny. No, seriously…it's kinda a personal question, I think," Jeff mumbled the last bit into Nick's side. 

Nick glanced down at his best friend. They'd never had a problem sharing things about themselves that only they knew. 

"Jeff, you know you can ask me anything. Or tell me anything". 

"Okay, it's just you've been acting weird…but I never really thought it was weird until recently, but you've been doing it for YEARS…" Jeff wasn't meeting his eyes, still talking into this side. 

Nick didn't really like where he thought this conversation was going, but if he said anything now, it would look too suspicious. Jeff continued talking, like if he stopped he wouldn't have the courage to keep going. 

"You don't play any sports and you never go to PE class…Nick, I was looking stuff up on the internet and I know what's happening…It's called Traumatophobia – it's where you're afraid of being injured…". 

Inwardly on the verge of a panic attack, Nick could only scoff outwardly, trying to hide his anxiety. 

"Jeff, that's ridiculous. I don't have a fear of getting hurt – ". 

"Yes, you do! You' never go the gym, but I know you're a health freak. You never play sports with us because you're afraid of the ball! And you NEVER dance with me! Or any of the Warblers!" Jeff was panting healthily, sitting up now and glaring down at his stunned friend. You have a problem, Nicky, and I'm going to help you". 

Jeff said the last sentence in a softer voice and with the hint of a smile. Jeff only laid there, stunned at his friends sudden passionate response. He couldn't even think of a reply so he simply nodded his head, not realising what he was getting himself into. 

* * *

><p>A week after Jeff's outburst, the two boys were holed up in their dorm. Jeff had turned up the volume on the small stereo they shared, and had pushed the furniture into the corners, and was currently twisting and jumping and spinning around the room. Nick watched as his friend's lithe body moved sinuously in time with the beat, half awed and half apprehensive. He almost felt sick with the knowledge that soon Jeff was going to drag him up there to dance with him. And then he was going to kick something and break his toe. Or trip over something and fall. Or – <p>

"Nick! Earth to Nick". 

Jeff's smiling face was thrust inches from his, his eyes filled with concern. Nick jolted out of his morbid thoughts and tried to smile at his friend. He was sure it looked like more of a grimace of pain. 

"I'm okay. I was just…" he trailed off, not willing to admit how scared he was of attempting this. 

Jeff quickly knelt down in front of him, placing his hands on the brunette's knees. 

"Nicky, if you really don't want to do this, we'll just forget I brought it up". 

Nick looked down at his friend sincere face, and took a few deep breaths, letting his eyelids fall closed. 

"…no, I wanna try…I don't want to be scared, Jeffie…". 

Jeff smiled, though Nick couldn't see it with his eyes closed, and jumped up, tugging Nick with him. Surprised at the sudden momentum, Nick fell onto his friend, his eyes flying open. Jeff easily caught him and held them both upright. 

"See, I always be here to catch you. You'll be fine, Nick. We'll start off easy". 

Nick straightened up, red infusing his cheeks, and nodded. Jeff took a few steps back and started to move his feet slowly in time with the beat, encouraging his friend to copy his movements. Nick tried to mimic the blonde teen, but his legs felt like lead. Jeff smiled at him, despite his pitiful attempts. Nick felt a little elation at the smile, and even more he wanted to succeed; he wanted to make Jeff proud, to show him that he could beat his phobia if he only put his mind to it. 

Once Nick had mastered those first few steps, Jeff added a bit of a body twist to his moves. Nick tried to copy it, and he thought he might be getting it, but then suddenly he rolled too much to one side and his balance was lost. His brain panicked, and his feet tripped uselessly on the rug underneath them. He felt himself falling and the last thing he saw before he scrunched his eyes shut was Jeff's startled and worried expression. 

He felt his back and shoulder connect with the ground, which wasn't that hard, but hard enough to shock him. He flashbacked to the last time he fell – from the tree when he was only five – and his limbs thrummed with phantom pain. He didn't dare to move, except for his chest which rose and fell rapidly with his frantic breathing. Despite his closed eyes, he could feel tears leaking out from underneath his lids. He was so close to a panic attack, trying not to remember the last time he'd fallen. He wanted to curl up, but he knew if he moved, it would only hurt more, so he just scrunched his eyes shut tighter and cried harder. 

Suddenly, he felt hands on him, turning him over. He cried out, waiting for the onslaught of pain, but nothing happened. He cracked his eyes open, and Jeff's warm brown eyes came into his blurry vision. His best friend leaned over him, concern etched onto his facial features. His hands were running gently over Nick's body, checking for injuries. Nick could see his mouth moving, but he couldn't hear anything. He tried to listen to what he was saying. 

"…ick… alright. Nothing's broken. It's okay Nick…". 

Noticing the lack of pain, Nick was quick to roll himself up into a sitting position, pushing Jeff's hands away. He couldn't look Jeff in the eyes; instead his gaze fixed onto the floor. Tears dripped freely from his cheeks, leaving tiny droplet stains on the carpet. 

"NO IT'S NOT!...It's not okay…I…" Nick stammered, fighting to get the proper words out through his tears. 

His tears only fell harder; he couldn't stop them. 

'Why am I so useless? I'm pathetic…I ca…can't even…dance with Jeff… …and I really want to'. 

"You're not pathetic, Nicky, " Jeff was suddenly crouched down to his level, gently gripping his chin to look him in the eyes. "Please don't ever think that". 

Nick hadn't realised he'd said that out loud. He tried to lower his head again, shame reddening his cheeks, but Jeff's grip on his chin tightened ever so slightly, preventing the movement. 

"I'm so sorry, Jeff. I want..wanted to dance with you – I really, really did… …but I'm so **scared**…and I know it's st…stupid…but I don't know w…what to do…". 

Jeff noticed Nick was starting to hyperventilate, choking as he battled for air and against his seemingly never-ending tears. He couldn't stand to see his best friend like this. He used both hands to gently hold Nick's head and guided it to his shoulder. He used one hand to rub soothingly up and down Nick's back, and he waited patiently for Nick's near-panic attack to subside. 

* * *

><p>Later, Nick would tell Jeff about his traumatising childhood experience that led to his phobia. Jeff would hug him and reassure him as many times as was necessary. A few days after that, Jeff would drag Nick up and gently lead him around the room in slow twirling movements. He would catch the brunette when he tripped. Eventually, Nick would gain the surety to dance on his own, without Jeff's constant guidance. He would try out for that solo and he would win it, and impress everyone with his new dancing ability. He was still scared, almost constantly worrying about tripping over his own feet and mentally pinpointing all of the sharp and potentially dangerous objects in a room; he still had brief moments of panic when he tried a move he was sure would be too complicated and he forgot to breathe for a moment, but knowing that Jeff was there, right beside, waiting to catch him if – when – he fell, Nick knew he could get better.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.**

**"blah" – talking**

**'blah' – thinking**

**_blah_ – flashback**

* * *

><p>"Wes…Wes... …Wesley… … …Wesley Thomas Eugene Montgomery…I SAID WE –<p>

"David, repeat that name again and I will personally see to it that you are never able to produce children".

"Good morning to you too, Wes".

"Good morning…" but Wes' attention was diverted again, causing David and Thad to both huff loudly and turn their own attentions back to their breakfast.

After another five minutes of silence apart from the scrape of cutlery against china, David put down his knife and fork and nudged Thad with his elbow. The other senior also laid down his utensils and both shared a look before turning their gazes to their Asian friend.

All three friends had a rare free morning this Wednesday. They had decided to spend it enjoying a peaceful, unrushed breakfast outdoors in a quaint, little gazebo hardly known about nearby the lake on the Dalton grounds. They'd risen early to cook their food and then packed it into a couple of large picnic baskets. The food had smelled delicious and David and Thad had immediately dug in. Wes had also piled his plate high, but before he could take even one bite, something outside the gazebo had caught his attention.

David noticed he'd been sitting stock still, staring at whatever it was that had caught his attention with wide eyes, but the hands gripping his knife and fork were white from the pressure he must be applying.

"Wes, what did the fork ever do to you?" David chided, visibly concerned about his friend's mental being this morning. "Please refrain from breaking school property".

"Oh, please, yes! Haven't you seen the budget for this month," Thad joined in, whining. "We're already roughly $100 over due to having to pay for professional cleaners to remove the mud stains Blaine left on the various objects of furniture".

Wes hardly seemed to be paying attention, only slowly nodding his head without breaking eye contact with whatever it was. David spun around in his seat to look in the same direction, but he couldn't see anything except for the lake, the green hills in the distance, a few trees and a flock of innocent ducks that must have strayed nearer when they'd brought out the food. David turned back to his friend, and then turned around again, attempting to follow his gaze more directly. He did this several times before he figured it out.

"…Wes?...Are you having a stare-down with…a duck?"

Wes looked over at him this time, his cheeks and neck immediately taking on a red hue, even though it was a bit hard to see. Thad remained silent, watching the two best friends interact.

"…I don't like it," Wes mumbled, averting his gaze back to the duck. "It's staring at me".

"Just ignore it, Wes. It's a bloody duck".

"I can't…" Wes seemed timid, almost embarrassed.

"Why not?" questioned Thad.

Wes paused then, hesitant to answer. He seemed to consider whether or not to tell them. Finally, he must have come to a decision. He didn't look at either of them as he spoke; he kept his head down, but David could see him narrow his eyes in the direction of the lake again.

"…I'm scared of ducks…"

"What?" Thad choked on his mouthful of toast and David had to thump his back a few times before his face returned to its normal colour.

"Well, more specifically…being stared at by ducks…" Wes cringed, waiting for the cruel laughter to start or the flying word barbs.

Neither of his friends said anything, though, so he thought maybe he needed to explain himself better. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to David's. His friend met his gaze and stoically waited.

"I know it's ridiculous. I mean, logically I know ducks are, like, harmless," once he started, Wes found he couldn't stop until he'd revealed all of his shameful, little secret. "And sometimes I'm okay, but other times, I just can't help it. It freaks me out the way they stare at me…with those beady eyes…

There's actually a name for it. Anatidaephobia...the fear of being watched by a duck…" Wes's voice had dwindled to a mere murmur by the end of his monologue.

David and Thad didn't say anything for a moment, and they didn't move. Wes lowered his head in shame. The two friends sitting across from saw when the tear droplets fell from his cheeks to land on the table in small splatters. That was enough to motivate the pair into action.

Without speaking a word and only a glance shared between them, they started to gather the various bowls and plates, and load them carefully into the baskets. Wes peeked questioningly up at them, but they only smiled in response and grabbed Wes' dishes to pack away.

Everything had been stashed away. David grabbed the two baskets and Thad hefted Wes up, and the pair steered him away from the lake. When they were nearly at the verandah, Wes pulled out of Thad's loose grip.

"Guys, where are we going?" he seemed a bit breathless.

Thad and David continued walking until they reached one of the tables situated in various positions underneath the roof cover. David put down the baskets and started to unpack the food items again while Thad guided Wes over to a chair and pushed him down into it. Soon, all the food had been brought out and the three friends were seated comfortably. Wes simply stared.

"Wes, sweetie, if you leave your mouth open like that, you're going to catch flies," David lectured in his best motherly tone.

Wes' mouth snapped shut at that.

"Wes, we couldn't – in all good conscience – stay down near the lake. We saw how unnerved you were".

"…but.."

"No 'buts'. It makes no difference to us whether we're down by the lake or up near the school. As long as **you're** comfortable, Wes".

With that said, David and Thad returned to their interrupted breakfast. Wes, still staring, couldn't seem to find appropriate words to sum up his feelings, but he was suddenly thankful beyond measurement; for these friends – these two amazing boys – who didn't laugh at or judge him for his silly quirks; who moved their entire breakfast scene nearly half a kilometre away and never once complained, just to satisfy their bossy, gavel-wielding, quirky friend.

He smiled at those thoughts, and finally, picked up his cutlery to enjoy a peaceful, unrushed breakfast outdoors – not in a quaint, little gazebo hardly known about nearby the lake on the Dalton ground – but still with his two best friends.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.**

"**blah" – talking**

'**blah' – thinking**

_**blah**_**– flashback**

**Sorry this took so long to update. I developed the worst writer's block ever :p So, here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Thad had never liked going to see the dentist. Ever since he was little, he'd done anything and everything he could think of to avoid a trip to the tooth doctor. He religiously brushed his teeth after breakfast and dinner, and sometimes after lunch too. He used an extremely expensive brand of toothpaste, flossed every night, even used special whitening strips. He very rarely consumed anything sugary. Anything to make sure that he never had to unnecessarily visit the hellhole that people referred to as the dentist.<p>

That wasn't to say he'd never been. His mother had forced him several times when he was younger, and then there'd been the annual visits at school where he couldn't escape.

Thad figured that if he could just make it through high school, then he'd be a free man and there would be nobody trying to "look after" him anymore. He also thought he'd be safe at Dalton. Most of the students were from extremely wealthy families and had killer health care plans. This meant that almost everyone attending the prestigious school was in tip-top shape and that included their dental health; so the school didn't really need a dentist.

Thad's teeth were perfect; perfectly straight, perfectly white. Which was why he shrugged off the dull ache forming in the lower right region of his mouth on Monday morning. He brushed his teeth almost ferociously after breakfast, and the pain seemed to retreat. Maybe he'd just missed a bit of food caught in between his teeth last night. No need to worry. After all, Thad's teeth were perfect.

Halfway through his second period class, the whole right side of Thad's jaw was throbbing. He could hardly concentrate on the formulas the teacher was scribbling on the board. He really hoped the pain would go away. He could feel the first touches of panic creeping up inside him at the thought of being forced to go to the dentist. With that thought, he roused himself and focused his eyes on the chalkboard, determined that a little bit of pain wouldn't get the best of him. There was no way there was something wrong with his teeth; he looked after them so well. That's right. There was no need for a dentist. He probably just needed to brush harder.

By the end of the day, after dinner and almost time for bed, the ache had disappeared altogether. Thad still took an extra three minutes to brush his teeth, and took particular care when flossing the right side of his mouth.

The next day, his mouth was fine. No throbbing, not even a little bit sensitive. For the rest of the week, there was no pain, and Thad forgot about it.

* * *

><p>"No".<p>

Thad stared defiantly at the pair of boys standing before him, crossing his arms over his chest for good measure. He puffed out his chest a little bit, trying to appear more intimidating then he felt. Truthfully, he felt like a three year old refusing to fall asleep when his parents tucked him into bed and told him it was nap time. Except in this case, he was refusing to go to the dentist – which a lot of three year olds did anyway – and Wes and David were the parents **trying** to force him.

"Thad, I don't understand why you won't go to the dentist. You've been complaining for the last week and a half," David tried to reason, speaking in that irritatingly, ever-calm tone.

"Well, I don't understand why you're making such a big deal about this," Thad replied, rolling his eyes. "They're my teeth.

And I haven't been complaining all week!"

"You're right, you haven't. Wes has".

Thad shot the Asian boy a look.

"Hey, it's not my fault! Seriously Thad, you've been moaning and whining every ten minutes," Wes defensively retorted. "The other day I walked into our dorm to see you banging your head against the wall…repeatedly. And I know you can't have been sleeping well, if all the moving about at ungodly times of the night is any indication".

"And could you mash your fist into your cheek any harder during Warblers rehearsal?" David questioned rhetorically.

Thad turned his glare onto his dark-skinned friend.

Thad knew they were right. His toothache had returned with a vengeance. For the last ten days almost, his right side jaw had been suffering from a near-constant throbbing and his lower right teeth, varying degrees of sensitivity. He didn't understand, though; he'd been brushing his teeth four times a day, and flossing every morning and night. There were no holes that he could see.

There was nothing to explain the sudden upsurge of pain, but that didn't stop it. Thad had hardly been able to concentrate for the last week. Study was nearly impossible, and he was sure his grade was going to suffer because of it. Even the enthusiasm he felt for Warblers rehearsal was dulled. Sometimes he wanted to mash his head into his pillow. Sometimes he did. Like Wes said, he couldn't sleep properly at night. He'd taken every type of general pain killer known to man, but nothing seemed to work. He still woke up several times at night, and it always took at least a half hour to fall back asleep. The bruise-like circles under his eyes could attest to that. He felt guilty too, when he looked at Wes and saw the bags underneath his eyes, and knew he'd been keeping his friend awake with all of his twisting and turning.

He'd had to quit the painkillers a few days ago. Wes had stolen his entire stash after Thad had shown up to rehearsal almost high. He'd spent the entire meeting giggling like a 12-year-old girl every time someone spoke. He ran into the door on his way in, and again on his way out, and he'd knocked his elbow at least four times against the side of the council's desk – which had only caused further sniggering. In the end, Wes had cut rehearsal short when Thad had stolen his gavel and attempted to throw it out the window. Thankfully, David had managed to save Wes' precious gavel. Wes had not been amused, if his steely expression was anything to go by, but at least Nick and Jeff had found it entertaining, even cheering Thad on.

Thad had even turned to alcohol. He'd snuck a bottle of vodka into his and Wes' dorm room. Disguising it as water, he spent a good portion of the evening sipping from his 'water bottle' and steadily getting rowdier. The pain seemed to diminish after every sip, but it would soon return and so Thad would take another sip and another and another. Wes had finally caught on later that night and let's just say…it wasn't pretty. Not to mention the aching head Thad had to deal with the next morning along with his still-aching jaw.

"All we're trying to say is, this could easily be solved if you'd just visit the dentist. It's probably just your wisdom tooth".

Wes' voice suddenly broke Thad from his reverie.

… "My what?"

"Your wisdom tooth, Thaddeus," Wes grumbled.

"Remember when Blaine was complaining about a toothache last year for almost a week. Well, that was just one of his wisdom teeth moving up and down," David explained. "Anyway, he went to the dentist, had the tooth pulled out, and he's been fine since".

"…pulled?" Thad's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"Uh, yeah. You'd have to go under for a few hours, and then maybe take a couple of days off from school, but just think Thad – after that, you won't have to worry about it anymore".

"Until the next one pops up," Wes interjected helpfully.

"…next one?" Thad whimpered, his face growing pale.

"Of course. Four wisdom teeth, remember?"

"Not that they'll necessarily be as bad as this one," David quickly interrupted upon seeing Thad's whitening skin. "Right, **Wes**?"

"Well, I remember my first three wisdom teeth – it was hell. I ended up having them all pull –

"WES!"

"Y…You know what, guys? It's actually settled down quite a bit in the last half hour…s…so it might have been nothing. I guess I was just overreacting," Thad chuckled nervously. "I'm just gonna leave it for a few days and if there's no more pain, then it's all good, right?

Seeing the pointed looks both council members were levelling at him, Thad knew his bluff had been called.

"I'm not going, and that's final," Thad seriously stated, re-crossing his arms over his chest.

* * *

><p>Which didn't explain how Thad found himself strapped into the backseat of David's car the next day. Wes sat in the passenger seat and he twisted around to glare at Thad every time the other boy moved even an inch. Thad had no idea where they were going, but he had a sinking suspicion he wasn't going to like it. The two best friends had yet to announce their destination, and had simply bodily manhandled Thad out of his dorm room and into the back of David's car. He'd seen Jeff and Nick waving cheerily and snickering at him as he'd passed through the entrance hall.<p>

Now, he felt like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. He could feel his eyeballs itching as he tried to hold back the water, and his skin tingling with nerves. His legs bounced almost imperceptibly and he had to fight the urge to rip off his seatbelt and jump out the car door. Of a moving vehicle. Yeah, Thad reallyhated the dentist.

Not that their destination had been verbally confirmed yet, but as Thad watched out the window, an off-white, official looking building came into view. As they slowed and pulled into the parking lot, Thad saw a middle-aged lady attempting to drag a screaming child across the lot. His doom was further reinstated when he noticed the large sign that read "DENTIST". Thad forgot to breathe.

'No…no…not here…'

David parked the car and got out, Wes following shortly after. Thad remained in his seat, not even unbuckling the belt around his waist. He was literally frozen. Even his chest barely rose and fell.

'I can't be here. Anywhere, but here…'

Wes had come around to the driver's side and opened the back door. He opened his mouth to reprimand Thad, but stopped when he saw his friend.

Thad was sat there, stiff limbed, not moving an inch. Wes wasn't sure he was breathing. Thad's eyes were wide and staring into nothing, but Wes thought he saw a watery glimmer to them.

"Thad!" he almost-shouted, trying to get his friend's attention.

Thad violently flinched, sucking in a deep breath at the same time. He spun his upper half to face the pair of boys outside of the car. Despite Thad's attempts to control his facial expression, both Wes and David saw the way his bottom lip trembled, and both noticed the terrified glint in his eyes. They'd never seen their friend look so vulnerable.

Seeing both of his friends staring expectantly at him, Thad haltingly unbuckled his seat belt and clambered out of the vehicle. With a friend on either side of him, Thad was forced to start walking across the parking lot. With every step, the dreaded building loomed closer. The middle-aged lady he'd noticed before was now attempting to unhook the screaming child from where he had latched onto a parked ute.

He really wasn't feeling well at all. His nerves were making it impossible for him to think properly. He couldn't go in there; he couldn't. Wes and David didn't know.

As soon as Wes left his side to help the struggling mother, Thad made a break for it. He spun on the spot and started marching back towards the car. He didn't get far before David caught up to him and tugged harshly on his arm, demanding to know what was wrong with him.

What David didn't expect was for Thad to drop to his knees and clutch onto the bumper bar of the nearest car, and scream, "NO".

He sounded so desperate, and his actions were so startling that David froze for a moment, staring incredulously at his friend.

"I'm not going in there. You can't make me".

"What are you doing?" David hissed from where he stood nearby, glancing around nervously.

"You heard me," Thad whimpered, tightening his grip on the vehicle and clenching his eyes shut, as if he could avoid further embarrassment by doing so.

"Stop acting like a three year old and get up, you idiot! Before Wes sees you".

"THADDEUS EDWARD HARWOOD!"

Thad just cringed at the sound of Wes' voice and his approaching footsteps. He sounded angry. The next time he spoke, Wes' voice was much louder, and Thad knew that if he opened his eyes, he would be met with the sight of an enraged Warbler captain standing right above him.

"Thad, stop this foolish behaviour at once," Wes growled. "You should set a better example. You are representing Dalton".

Thad didn't respond, just half-heartedly listened to Wes as he continued his lecture, voice beginning to rise in volume. Maybe if he held on long enough, Wes and David would give up and they could all return to Dalton Academy. The only thing Thad knew was that he couldn't go into that building. He could deal with the pain, he wouldn't whine ever again; just as long as he didn't have to go into that building.

Opening his eyes a fraction, Thad could see beyond Wes that the woman and her child had stopped fighting, and both were standing still, staring with wide eyes at the spectacle before them. In the next second, Thad felt himself being bodily lifted by two pairs of arms. Thad only tightened his grip on the bumper bar as Wes and David attempted to drag him away from the car.

Eventually, with David tugging and Wes prying at his fingers, the pair managed to detach their friend from the car. After that, they didn't let him go. Thad squirmed and kicked and dug his feet in, pleading with them and hissing names at them when that didn't work, but he was smaller and weaker than both the Asian boy and the dark-skinned boy. The last thing Thad saw as he was dragged through the doors was the mother and child still standing frozen in the parking lot, watching him with astounded, concerned faces. Then the doors swung closed behind the trio.

* * *

><p>Wes was starting to think this entire trip was a bad idea. After seeing Thad's reaction in the car park, he'd began to think that something was very wrong with his friend. He'd disregarded the idea, instead simply chocking up Thad's pale complexion, breakout sweating and scared expression to his toothache. After having to physically drag him across the lot, that niggling doubt had returned. And now, watching his friend sitting rigidly in the chair beside his own, feeling the minute quivering through their barely touching arms, Wes knew for sure that something wasn't right. Especially when the receptionist had to call Thad's name three times before it got his attention.<p>

* * *

><p>"Thad Harwood".<p>

"Thad, Doctor Manning will see you now".

After hearing his name called for the third time, Thad accepted the inevitable and rose from his seat in the too-quiet, too-sterile waiting room, and casting a final glance at Wes and David, tentatively wandered down the adjoining hallway. The hallway ended and opened up into a white coloured room. A tall man with a neat, greying beard – Dr. Manning Thad's brain supplied – stood next to a reclined chair, but Thad's eyes swept over him and immediately honed in on the tray of tools placed innocently beside the chair. The tiny instruments glinted in the light cast from overhead.

"Please, take a seat and we can begin," Dr. Manning said, gesturing to the reclined chair.

Thad forced his uncooperative body to jerkily move forward and settle himself in the chair. The room was eerily silent; the only sounds the soft tapping of keys on a keyboard where the assistant looked over information on a laptop, and the clink of various tools being prepped by another assistant to Thad's right. Dr. Manning cleared his throat, abruptly breaking the silence.

Thad could hear his own breathing starting to speed up against his will; feel his chest rise and fall at an increasing rate; feel his blood rush through his veins. He thought even the dentist and his assistants must be able to hear the loud 'thud-thud, thud-thud' of Thad's heart as it tried to burst out of his chest.

Dr. Manning turned to him then, looking expectantly down upon him. In his hands, he held two small, metal rods – one with a round mirror attached at the end, and the other with a thin, twisted piece of what looked to be wire.

"Okay, now open up nice and wide," the doctor spoke, holding out the tools of torture.

Thad flinched when Dr. Manning waved the tools closer to him before squeezing his eyes shut and tentatively opening his mouth. Immediately after, he could feel the foreign touch of cold metal inside his mouth, and he flinched again. Dr. Manning used the thin-wire instrument to scrape between two of his bottom teeth, and Thad felt a shiver run down his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to focus on controlling his breathing, praying for it all to be over soon.

Thankfully, the inspection didn't take long, and soon the metal tools retreated from his mouth. Thad quickly shut his jaw with a snap.

His relief was short-lived however, when Dr. Manning turned to him and frowned – though not unkindly.

"One of your back molar teeth seems to be rotten. There's a small amount of decay there – "

"But I brush like, four times a day a…a…and I floss an – "

Dr. Manning interrupted him, smiling at the boy's vehement expression, "I'm sorry, son. I think you might have missed a bit. It's right at the back, hardly visible without special equipment".

Thad tried to swallow, but he found that any moisture within his throat had disappeared.

"What does that mean?" he asked, inwardly cursing when his voice wavered.

"Well, because it's been left so long, an infection's popped up. Unfortunately, we'll have to pull the tooth".

When Thad's breathing hitched at that comment, the dentist quickly added, "Of course, you'll be under a general anaesthesia, so you won't feel a thing".

Despite Dr. Manning's reassuring smile, Thad couldn't stop his body's reactions. He really felt sick now, and he was starting to sweat a little.

"C…can I talk to my friends first?"

"Of course, we'll just prep everything and as soon as you're ready, we can begin. Since your paperwork says you're eighteen now, we don't need parental consent".

Thad only nodded as he sped out to the waiting room and grabbed Wes and David by their lapels as they rose from their chair, and then proceeded to drag them out the door, ignoring the receptionist's anxious eyes.

"Thad! What is the matter with you?" Wes demanded, yanking himself out of his fellow council member's grip.

"We have to go," the smaller Warbler mumbled, still trying to tug David along as he headed in the direction of the car.

"Hold on a minute, Thad," David interjected. "What did the dentist say?"

"All good, nothing wrong. Now let's go".

"Thad! This isn't like you. What did the dentist really say?"

Thad stopped then, still facing towards the parking lot and away from his friends. His shoulders hunched a little, and Wes and David were startled to hear the tremor in his voice when he spoke, though they had to lean forward to catch what was being said.

"…One of my back teeth has…it's turned rotten, and they said they're going to pull it out, but I don't – I CAN'T – go back in there".

He'd swung around to face Wes and David by this point, not caring about the tears slowly escaping his eyes and trickling down his cheeks. He could hear his breath coming faster, even though it seemed to be getting harder and harder to draw in air every time he tried. He wrapped his arms around his torso, hunching in on himself further.

"I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't –

"Thad!" Wes' authoritative voice cut through the panic, slicing clean through the encroaching, clutching tendrils.

" Thad, you need to calm down and listen to me," Wes ordered, though not unkindly after seeing the state that his friend was in. "'Now, I think you suffer from a condition known as 'dentophobia' – a fear of dentists – but you can't put this off, Thad. It's really serious and if you don't have this operation done, it could cause irreparable damage".

"But –

"What if I go in with you?" Wes asked, trying to smile reassuringly. "I'll be there the whole time. I'll even hold your hand if you want me to".

Thad didn't respond for a moment. He just stood in the same spot, as if frozen, head hanging and tears still dropping. Eventually, he drew in a single shuddering breath and looked up at his friends. He still didn't talk. Simply nodded his head.

Wes slapped an arm around his slighter friend and between himself and David, started to lead him back to the building. They entered and David stopped at the counter to explain to the receptionist, who nodded and gestured for Thad and Wes to continue down the hallway.

"You don't have to hold my hand," Thad almost whispered as he followed Wes.

Wes turned his head to look back at his small, pale friend.

"Are you sure? It doesn't bother me, Thad".

"No, it's okay…I…Just you being here helps".

"Alright".

They entered the operating room together and Wes subtly guided Thad to the reclining seat before taking several steps back, but still staying in Thad's peripheral vision. Dr. Manning came over then.

"Alright, Thad, let's get started".

Even though it wasn't a question, Thad shakily nodded his head. Dr. Manning and an assistant crowded his view. He couldn't see Wes anymore. He felt his breathing rate beginning to speed up again, but tried to fight it, reminding himself that Wes was still in the room, was only a few steps away. Wes wouldn't let them do anything to him. Dr. Manning applied the anaesthesia then and after a few minutes, Thad's lower jaw went numb. He couldn't feel anything in the area surrounding his decaying tooth. He could see when Dr. Manning picked up the tiny, metal instruments, but he couldn't feel them as they prodded at the infected tooth.

Thad's breath hitched when he saw Dr. Manning pick up a scalpel, and he struggled against the urge to shut his mouth as he watched the miniature knife move closer to his face. He glanced to the side when he heard Wes' voice.

"It's fine, Thad. Just don't watch".

Thad almost nodded, but remembered the sharp objects in his mouth at the last moment. He closed his eyes, but even that couldn't quell his panic. He hated not knowing what was coming – even if what was coming was horrific and traumatising beyond imagination. He opened his eyes when he felt a gentle niggling in his mouth, signifying the dentist's instruments doing their work.

He was almost mortified when he felt the telltale pinprick of tears, but he was too overcome with the fright. While he couldn't feel any pain, there were occasional odd sensations as his tooth was pulled. He resisted the tears, not wanting to embarrass himself further in front of Wes, but they hung there, on the verge of falling from the tips of his lashes.  
>The instruments withdrew from his mouth when the dentist saw the tears, and through the dread, Thad thought he heard Dr. Manning ask if he could feel anything. He shook his head, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. The tiny, metal instruments returned and Thad once again felt the creeping tendrils of terror return, wrapping around his chest and tightening.<p>

And then, a touch. Gentle. Something slipping into his own hand. The grip tightened ever so slightly, but this time, it didn't cause panic. Thad recognised it as a hand. He knew it must be Wes' hand and he glanced sideways to look at his Asian friend. Wes smiled at him, and Thad felt a thumb rubbing soothing patterns into his skin. Words weren't spoken – considering the various pieces of equipment in his mouth, Thad couldn't speak even if he wanted to – words weren't needed. The tendrils receded a little bit, loosened just an inch, chased away by Wes' calming presence.

Wes held his hand for the rest of the operation. And Thad knew that with friends like his, he could do anything. Even make a trip to the dentist.

* * *

><p><strong>Haha; this was WAY longer than I planned, and I'm not 100% happy with it, but it got to the point where I just wanted to finish it, post it and be done with it. Once again, I apologise profusely for how long it took to write and load this chapter. I will definitely be writing more chapters for this story, so I must ask for and thank you for your patience.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX. There are also several lines taken from the episode "On My Way" – you'll recognise them, but I'm just letting everybody know that they aren't my original work.  
><strong>

"**blah" – talking  
><strong>

'**blah' – thinking  
><strong>

_**blah**_** – flashback/dream/etc  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Sebastian didn't like to be alone. When he was a child, he followed the nannies and maids constantly, one small hand clutching onto their skirts. His parents were very busy with their jobs and never had time to spend with him, so he became accustomed to eating dinner alone – which their family's privately owned chef prepared every day – and tucking himself in, because the nannies had left by the time the sun set. As he'd grown older, he'd realised that it wasn't that his parents didn't have time to be with him; it was that they didn't <strong>want<strong> to. Which was fine – they'd never been there for him to miss – but when he was alone in that big, cold house with so many rooms filled with so many beautiful, expensive, but impassive pieces, he was scared and often, his imagination permeated his mind and created dreadfully life-like shades of his parents – and they would smile at him and ask how his day was, and they'd sit down to dinner as a family. There was no home in that house.

He'd made a few friends at the private middle school he attended in Paris, and he stayed over at their houses as much as possible. Eventually, though, his friends' parents got tired of him and he stopped suggesting after-school activities. He convinced himself he was content with hanging out during lunch breaks and the brief periods in between classes. The maids and the chef didn't stay long at the house anymore, only a few hours while he was at school. When he returned to the house, the dust was scrubbed from the surfaces and dinner was waiting in the oven. The dark and emptiness at home didn't seem so oppressing when he concentrated on the happy thoughts.

Sebastian was a few months into his freshman year when a tall, stunning youth approached him at recess. He introduced himself as Pierre – a junior – and told Sebastian he was beautiful. Pierre himself was gorgeous, with long, dark locks and even darker eyes that seemed endless pools of night that Sebastian found himself being caught in more than once. They shared a coffee date at a quaint café not far from their school. Pierre was more than happy to spend most of his time with Sebastian, and they became near inseparable. They were always at each other's houses – Pierre's parents were often away on business trips, too.

For once, Sebastian was truly happy. He didn't mind that his parents were never home. He didn't mind that his parents didn't love him. Because Pierre did. He didn't have to be alone anymore.

Sebastian was a few months into his sophomore year when he first had sex. He and Pierre were cuddled together on the couch, the older boy's arms wrapped securely around Sebastian's slimmer frame. Sebastian's head was tucked underneath Pierre's chin, and he turned his face upward when his boyfriend had laughed at something in the movie they'd been watching. God, he loved that laugh. Pierre had looked down at him, and lowered his head until their lips were gently touching. Sebastian flinched, surprised, but he didn't pull away; instead his eyes slipped closed and he surrendered himself to the new, amazing, terrifying feelings. Pierre deepened the kiss when the younger boy didn't resist.

When Sebastian woke up, he was alone. A blanket had been thrown over him, but underneath, he was naked. An ache was making itself known in his lower back, but he ignored it to sit up and look around the room. Gentle sunlight was drifting in through the gap in the curtains, igniting the floating dust particles in the air. His eyes alighted on a folded piece of paper, tucked underneath the movie case on the coffee table. He leant forward to grasp the paper, gasping and wincing when the ache in his lower back spread to other parts of his body. Unfolding the paper, he discovered it to be a note written in Pierre's handwriting.

_Dear Sebastian  
><em>

_Thanks for the great lay. I've wanted to do that since the day I first saw you, but oh well, it was worth the wait. Can't believe that was your first time. Let me know if you want to hook up again.  
><em>

_Pierre  
><em>

Sebastian lost count of how many times he reread the note, desperately looking for a different meaning in the harsh words. He was just a great lay? A casual hook up? Pierre had never loved him? Sebastian had given the older boy his heart, and Pierre had never even considered him more than a body. Eventually, the words became too blurred to make sense. He realised he was crying. He couldn't stop, and he collapsed back onto the couch, letting the sobs painfully wrack his body. He was alone.

He was unlovable. His parents didn't want him. His boyfriend used him and left him. And he had to leave behind the few friends he managed to make when he moved to the United States.

His parents didn't wanted anything to do with him; an unescapable truth which became apparent when they shipped him off to Dalton Academy. Yes, he was safe, and he never wanted for anything at such a prestigious school, but he was alone…again. He'd transferred in the middle of the term and had been given a whole room to himself. Many of the other students were envious, but little did they know, that every night, he cried himself to sleep, scared of the dark and the silence and the emptiness.

He immersed himself in school, joining both the lacrosse team and the Warblers. With his winning smile, easy charm, and gifted voice, he'd made plenty of friends – who he made sure to regularly invite to his dorm for movie nights. When he needed to study, he went to the junior common rooms, where there was usually at least one or two other students. If the common rooms were empty, he drove to the nearest café – the Lima Bean – and worked there, surrounded by the comforting noise of a dozen other human beings.

He started frequenting the local gay bar, Scandals. He went there whenever the loneliness overwhelmed him. At first, he just went to dance and drink and feel the multitude of people crowding him.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

That was how it started. Just an innocent drink, but one drink led to two, then three and four and he forgot how many more. One thing led to another and before he realised it, Sebastian was pinned against the filthy wall of a tiny bathroom cubicle, a man who looked only a few years older than him nibbling at his neck. That night, he let the man – whose name he never learnt – take him to a hotel and do things to his body. For that one night, he didn't feel so alone. When he woke up the next morning, the man was gone and Sebastian knew he wouldn't see him ever again. Because Sebastian Smythe was destined to alone forever. He broke down in the hotel room because that single thought scared him more than anything else in his entire life ever had.

It was a few weeks before he returned to Scandals. This time, he pursued the men; targeting them when he walked in the door, dancing sinfully in front of them, buying them drinks. He learned that he could get almost any guy he wanted. They'd take him home and he'd let them have their way with his body, and in return, he secretly hoped that one of them might fall in love with more than just his looks and decide to keep him. They never did; every morning without fail, his conquests were gone, leaving him alone in a cold bed. He still went to Scandals and still held out on his hope, because even having that irrational hope quashed every time was better than the alternative.

"Are you a freshman?"

He's heard all about Blaine Anderson. The Warblers speak reverently about him and no matter how hard he tries, Sebastian finds himself being compared to the ex-soloist a lot. When he finally meets Blaine, he's instantly entranced by his honey-hazel eyes and dapper aura. Admittedly, the bow tie's cute as well. He jumps at the opportunity to spend more time with Blaine, accepting his invitation to West Side Story almost before it's out of the shorter boy's mouth.

He didn't realise there was another boy in the way – one Kurt Hummel, he thinks loathingly – but that's never stopped him before. Hell, he'd make a game of this, and in the end, he'd have Blaine – gentle, dapper, beautiful Blaine – and Hummel would be alone. He knew with Blaine that he wouldn't be alone forever.

Sebastian was so happy the night he met up with Blaine and Hummel at Scandals. He spent a goodly portion of it dancing with the short, curly-headed boy. Finally, he felt like someone was noticing him, but then Hummel interrupted, forcing his way between Sebastian and Blaine. Sebastian continued to dance around the pair, but it was like there was an invisible wall surrounding the two McKinley students. He could look in – he could look in at their perfect togetherness – but he couldn't touch. Even when they were only a few feet away, he was separated from Kurt and Blaine.

Blaine turned him down repeatedly. Sebastian didn't know what he saw in Kurt Hummel, but there was no prying Blaine away from his boyfriend. He had to resort to drastic measures – the rock salt slushy. It wasn't meant to hit Blaine; he'd intended it for Hummel. Take Kurt Hummel out of the picture and Blaine would be all his. He just so desperately didn't want to be alone. It backfired. Blaine hated him now.

He worked his way up to the top of the Warblers, abolishing the Council and making himself Captain. He constantly criticised the Warblers, told them they weren't good enough, needed to practice harder. In truth, they were plenty good, but he needed the excuse to call extra practices almost every school afternoon. He needed the attention; he needed to feel like he was part of the team; part of something. The Warblers didn't trust him anymore – not after he'd thrown the slushy into Hummel's face. They weren't happy about the additional meetings either and Sebastian almost felt bad for being so mean to them. They'd all been his friends before he turned on them.

When they were all invited to McKinley and the New Directions performed "Black and White", he didn't expect his teammates to stand against him. He watched with concealed horror as they climbed the stage and wrapped their arms around the competition, singing along. He wanted to badly to get up on that stage and be with all the people, but his damned pride kept him in his seat…alone.

Alone.

Again. Always. Alone.

He wanted to cry, but instead, he clapped derisively and mocked his rivals and his teammates alike, his words cruel to hide the fact that he was really breaking inside, as it once again hit home that he was unlovable and not worth anyone's loyalty or friendship.

After that, he spent most of his time in his dorm room. The only times he ever came out were to go to classes, and even during those, he was listless and barely paid attention. He didn't even go to Scandals anymore. He gave up – no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't loveable; he wasn't even likeable. None of the Warblers or his supposed friends came to check up on him. Nobody paid him any notice. Locked away in his tiny dorm room, he drowned in overwhelming feelings of terror, anger, guilt and sadness.

He was going to be alone forever.

Why couldn't anybody – just one person – like him enough to stay with him!

He did this to himself. Why did he have to be such a jerk?

He was going to be alone forever.

Eventually, he had to wake up. Just like all those time when he went home with a strange man and woke up alone, to the harsh reality of his situation. He had to wake up and face it. So, he was going to be alone for the rest of his life. Laying and crying in the dark wasn't going to change that.

He took particular care with his appearance that day, and when he marched into Warbler's practice, his cocky, snarky mask was back in place. No need for anyone to know that something was wrong.

He went back to Scandals. He wasn't going to take anybody home tonight. He was going to enjoy himself, dance a bit and tomorrow, he'd wake up in his warm, comfortable bed in his own dorm room at Dalton. No heartbreak, no disappointment. He'd just made his way to the jukebox when a young, burly boy approached him.

'So, how do you get a guy?"

"You, get a guy? Please".

He hadn't meant to be so harsh; it'd just come out of his mouth instinctively. He instantly regretted it when he saw the look on the other boy's face. He wasn't so bad-looking, but he wasn't about to take back what he'd said. He really didn't need another hook up; didn't need his hopes dashed against the jagged rocks again. Words were his protection.

"Why? What's wrong with me?"

"Well, for starters, you're about 100 pounds overweight. Quit waxing your eyebrows. You look like Liberace. In fact, just stay in the closet, buddy".

Words were his shield; his defence when his many masks cracked and fell to pieces. He hated to be cruel – it wasn't him. He used to be sweet, innocent, kind. He **wanted** to be that boy again, but the world was harsh and he was certain to be alone forever. May as well start getting used to it. No need for silly distractions that only led to disappointment in between.

* * *

><p>Sebastian sat at one of the small tables littered around the Lima Bean café, reassured by the subdued noise from several other customers as they drank their own beverages and quietly conversed nearby. His textbook and notebook were laid out on the table in front of him.<p>

As he studied a particularly difficult problem, four bodies walked into his peripheral view. Glancing up, he was surprised to see Hummel, Blaine, Santana and a blonde girl whose name he thought might be Brittany. His eyes darted between them, noting the vehement looks being levelled at his being.

"Let me break it down for you, from one bitch to another," the Latina girl spoke, seating herself across from him. "All of this vicious, underhanded crap has got to stop".

Sebastian hadn't actually believed they would come when he had invited them. He'd only intended for Blaine, but he guessed the ex-Warbler had felt more comfortable with reinforcements. He wasn't exactly at ease with this arrangement, but he really needed to say some things that couldn't wait. After he'd found about Dave Karofsky's attempted suicide, he'd been overcome with guilt.

"Exactly. That's why I called you here. First of all, Blaine – I'm sorry about your eye".

He hoped he looked as sincere and sorry as he felt, but obviously it didn't show on his face, because Blaine answered in a baleful tone.

"That means nothing to me".

"Just give me a chance. I have no excuses other than a lame prank that got out of control...wait, no that's not completely true… …".

He quietly cursed under his breath, wishing this wasn't so hard. It'd been so long since he hadn't put on a mask. He was used to hiding everything simply because there was nobody who cared enough to look underneath his façade to see the hurting teenage boy trying to find his place in the world – somewhere he was loved and needed.

"Wait for the punch," Kurt interrupted snidely. "You know it's coming".

"No, not this time," Sebastian hurriedly replied, not wanting them to walk away and leave him alone again – he needed them to hear his explanation and he really, **really** needed them to understand. "For too long, I have treated…everything like a game… …

But it's not. Life isn't a game and I realise I can't just play with people…".

His voice cracked, and he lowered his face in an attempt to hide the gathering moisture in his eyes. He hadn't cried in years, not since he was a child.

"Oh, please. Stop with the theatrics Sebastian and –

"Kurt, shh, let's just hear him out".

That did it. Blaine's kind voice – even after all Sebastian had put him through – a boy still willing to listen to him. He couldn't stop the few tears that escaped and slid down his cheeks. The crowded room disappeared and all he could see and hear were the four people posed in front of him, their faces turned from hatred and disgust to concern and confusion.

"…I'm so scared…I'm just…so freaking scared…I don't want to be alone…".

Suddenly, he realised who he was crying in front of, and that a few of the store's other patrons were staring in his direction. He forced his facial muscles into his usual expression of cockiness and disdain, though a few tears escaped his lids and ruined the pretense.

"Can we go somewhere else less…public?" he whispered, refusing to look at any of the four McKinley students.

"S…sure," Blaine answered, and waited for Sebastian to gather his things up before leading the way out of the café.

The small group walked around the side of the building and when they were out of hearing range, Blaine stopped and turned to face Sebastian. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Parisian boy cut in before he could make a sound. If he didn't say this now, he would never work up the courage to.

"I…it's called 'autophobia' – fear of being alone…I went to a doctor…a while ago, and he told me…I just don't want to be…**can't** be alone forever –

"Then, maybe you should stop trying to get in every walking gay guy's pants and start looking for something more meaningful than sex!" Kurt exclaimed, frustration and contempt evident in his tone.

Sebastian looked down at the ground guiltily.

"I have. I tried, I really did…but they never stay… …No one wants me. I'm unlovable".

The self-hatred in Sebastian's tone surprised all of them. This wasn't the confident, roguish young man they knew so well; the boy in front of them looked and sounded so vulnerable and hurt.

"Seb, I'm sure you just haven't –

"DON'T LIE TO ME!...You don't have to lie to me. I know it's true; I've accepted it, and one day, it won't bother me anymore. I'm going to get over this. I don't need your pity," he spat the last bit out, trying vainly to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks again.

Unexpectedly, Kurt stepped forward and harshly grabbed the younger boy's shoulders and hauled him up straight, forcing him to look at him.

"No. Sebastian, no. You are going to keep looking and one day, you are going to find someone who'll be there every morning".

Sebastian only cried harder, and Kurt was sure that if he wasn't holding him up, the Parisian boy would have crumpled to the ground. Years and years of heartache and fear were breaking through to the surface, and Sebastian's body was ill equipped to deal with the tidal wave of emotions. He clung to Kurt, hiding his face in the taller boy's shoulder, aware of the other's eyes on him.

"Why is it so hard? I just want what you have…I…I j…just want someb…body to love me –

"You will, Sebastian. You will find someone. You just have to be patient".

"…I did. I…I had someone… …and he h…hurt me. I deserve to be used – I'm a horrible person".

A fresh wave of tears, soaking through the fabric of Kurt's jacket. Kurt was surprised at his sudden change of heart. Only this morning, Sebastian was on the top of his non-existent hit list, but now, he was holding the same boy in his arms, comforting him. Except, he wasn't the same boy. The old Sebastian was vindictive, and callous, and wasn't afraid to take down anyone who got in his way. In less than an hour, his entire view of Sebastian had changed. The Sebastian he was seeing now was hurt, and scared and fragile. His self-esteem was in pieces. Looking back, Kurt realised the Parisian boy had used his snarky, cocky, playboy persona as a mask to hide his true feelings from the world. He'd been hurt before; his only shield his biting words and fake face. Sure, he'd done some terrible things – like throwing that slushy at Blaine and forcing his poor boyfriend to go through a terrifying surgery; and threatening to post photo shopped pictures of Finn onto the internet – but here was a boy – not even eighteen – just trying to survive in the life he'd been given. He'd given Karofsky a second chance; why couldn't he Sebastian?

"Sebastian, we are going to sit here all afternoon if that's what it takes for me to get it through your thick skull that you **are** worth something".

"There are a lot worse people than you, Seb," Blaine interjected, laying a soft hand on the other boy's shaking shoulder. "And I forgive you".

"And we do make pretty awesome duet partners, meerkat-face," Santana added. "Besides, nobody else has ever been able to keep up with my verbal jabs before. So, you're not completely useless".

Sebastian didn't look up when he felt them move closer. He mumbled into Kurt's jacket.

"I'm so, **so **sorry for what I did to you guys," he took in a shaky breath before continuing, finally working up the courage to look at Kurt and Blaine. "It's just…Blaine was so nice to me, and he wasn't like the….o…others. I thought if I could get him away from you, then we could be happy and I wouldn't be alone…T…That's why I kept going to the…to Scandals. Maybe, just maybe, one of those guys would want…to…keep me…".

He started crying harder and Kurt, Blaine, Santana and Brittany crowded closer. A few of the patrons leaving the café looked in their direction, but quickly walked away when Santana glared at them.

Eventually, Sebastian's tears ran out and he seemed to come to his senses. He roughly pushed himself out of Kurt's arms, spinning around to glare at the public school students.

"Oh no you don't,' Blaine said, reaching forward to snag the younger boy's delicate hand. "I know what you're trying to do. You think if you push us away and start acting like an arsehole again, we'll just leave you alone…but we've seen the real you, Seb. And you can't rid of us that easily. You need help. You could really use a friend. I would be honoured to offer myself up for the position".

"Ooh, Blaine, that sounded like a proposition".

"Yep, old Sebastian's back," Kurt quipped, but he too, came to stand beside the Warbler. "Just stay away from my boyfriend and we'll get along fine".

Santana and Brittany crowded around him as well, and though he scowled and whined, secretly – or maybe not so secretly if the knowing smirks on Kurt and Blaine's face were anything to go buy – he relished the attention. Yeah, they were mushy and way-too sentimental, but he'd finally found friends who accepted him for him. He didn't have to hide anymore. And he didn't feel so alone.

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><p><strong>Not-so-good ending in my own opinion, but the awesome muse I seemed to have when started this chapter, disappeared halfway through :p<strong>

**Should I do more? I'm almost out of known Warblers**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.  
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**"blah" – talking  
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**'blah' – thinking  
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**_blah_**** – dream/flashback/etc  
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><p>When Trent experiences his first storm, he is three years old. It is the middle of the night, and his parents have long since tucked him into his bed and retired to their own room. The distant rumbling of the thunder wakes him. It stops him from falling back asleep when it sounds every few minutes, growing progressively louder.<p>

'Footsteps. Big monster footsteps,' Trent's childish mind supplies. 'Getting closer'.

He buries his head under the sheets and makes sure his feet are tucked up, away from the edges of the bed. He clutches the sheets tight between his chubby, baby hands and holds his breath as he waits for the next footstep. Maybe a giant's. Maybe a dinosaur's. Maybe a monster's.

He doesn't want to poke his head out to check. He considers shouting for his parents, but doesn't want to make any noise in case the monster hears him.

The footsteps are sounding closer together now. The monster must be running. Towards what, though? He stays huddled under the covers, not moving an inch, not speaking a whisper.

It starts to rain a few minutes later, and then the lightning strikes several minutes after that. Trent is familiar with the sound and smell of rain. This rain is heavier than anything he's ever experienced before, if the violent drumming of the droplets against his window is anything to go by. Lightning, though, is foreign to him.

He doesn't know what makes it. All he knows is that the room lights up for a few seconds following the loudest footstep yet. For those few seconds, everything is clearly outlined – the lamp on the bedside table, the large desk, the ornate rocking chair near the foot of his bed, and the claws and spikes and slithery tails peeking out from behind the furniture – even through the sheets. When the light disappears, he doesn't move; afraid that if he does, the creatures lurking in the dark and the monster outside his room will see him. The room lights up again, and he can see through the gap of the closet door, dozens of glowing, staring eyes. The flash has barely disappeared before the room is bright again, and this time, Trent can see misshapen bodies stalking out of the shadows.

He doesn't move, doesn't even blink. He doesn't make a sound, not even a whimper. He stays awake that night, unable to fall back into sleep. He listens to the giant's footsteps, and imagines the raindrops dashing the glass panes are the giant's tears. He doesn't know what to make of the brilliant, bright flashes that occasionally light up all of the lurking nightmares, but he knows he doesn't like it. He muffles his sobs as best he can, biting his lips till it bleeds.

* * *

><p>Trent has never recovered from that night. He knows now what thunder and lightning are, knows the science behind them. His imagination doesn't conjure up shadow creatures anymore. Sun showers, day time storms don't bother him too much; they make him fidgety and tense, nervous, but they don't interfere with his day much. Night is a different story. He remembers the feelings he felt that night; the fear, the loneliness, the paranoia. Every time, the lightning strikes, he is afflicted with the feelings again.<p>

The thunder precedes the lightning, warns him. There's not much he can do to prepare though. He can't stop Mother Nature. He used to have a dorm to himself. Every time he heard the thunder, he'd pack up his duvet and pillow and trudge 3 doors down the hallway to Wes' and David's room. Wes never minded if the younger boy slept out on the small couch situated in the far corner of their double dorm. Wes even left the lamp on for the entire night. Trent felt better just knowing that there were other human beings in the room with him. He didn't ever manage to fall completely asleep. His rest was fitful and he did little more than fall into a doze before he was startled awake by a clap of thunder or bolt of lightning. Still, it was better than sitting up, fully awake and alone in his own room.

But now, he's getting a roommate. Trent's heard the rumours; new student transfer mid-term, from public high school. Another bully case, he assumes, just like too many who come to Dalton, seeking safety and acceptance within the school's walls. Apparently, the new kid's name is Flint. He's a sophomore, just like Trent.

Trent is excited to meet him, but at the same time, anxious because he doesn't want anybody else to know about his stupid, little fear. All of the Warblers know, but he made them promise not to tell anyone else. Logically, Trent knows that everyone is entitled to fears, but none-the-less, he feels ashamed that at the age of 16, he still feels the need to pull the covers over his head and hide from the world every time the wind so much as howls.

* * *

><p>Flint turns out to be something of a gentle giant. Towering over Trent – and most of the students at Dalton – broad shoulders, muscular arms. But a winning smile and warm eyes. An approachable face, and an easy laugh.<p>

Trent and Flint find common ground in their music interests, and Trent invites him to audition for the Warblers when he finds out the larger boy was part of his old school's choir. Trent takes him on a tour of the school, and then leads him to the dining hall when it comes time for dinner. He introduces him to Wes, David and Thad, and Blaine, and Nick and Jeff, and all the other Warblers. By the time all of the plates are cleaned of food, everybody has grown attached to Flint. He's everyone's friend, and Trent finds it hard to imagine this impossibly-friendly boy as anyone's target.

Trent and Flint make their way back to the dorm together, a comfortable silence settling between them. Trent inadvertently freezes when the first clap of thunder resounds throughout the hallway.

'It's so close'.

The monster must be right above them. He wants to crouch down, right then and there, in the middle of the hallway; wrap his arms around his head, cover his ears with his hands, close his eyes, pretend he's hiding from the monster, just like he used to do when he was five.

He wants to run down the hallway, twist and turn around the corners, never stopping to look behind, until he reaches his dorm. He wants to slam the door shut behind him, and jump into bed and hide underneath the covers.

Instead, his body freezes, and even if it's just minutely – even if it's just a stutter in his step before he regains control – Flint notices.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asks, face a picture of concern.

One large, calloused hand reaches out, as if to steady him, but Trent is already moving forward again, anxious to make it back to the dorm before the storm starts in and he becomes too terrified to leave his room. Where he'll be forced to spend the night, alone, awake, distraught.

"Y…yeah, I'm fine," Trent is quick to reassure his friend, attempting to smile, though he's sure it comes out looking more like a grimace. "Just tripped, is all".

"Oh, ok".

They continue walking in silence. When they make it back to their dorm, Flint excuses himself to use the small ensuite attached to the room. Trent doesn't mind. He just wants to be on his way to Wes' room. He slips off his shoes and quickly trades the stiff Dalton blazer for more comfortable clothing. Before he can gather up his duvet and pillow though, a booming dissonance of thunder rings out and the hard rain starts to fall. He jumps and almost screams, but claps his hands over his mouth before more than a yelp can escape him. He rushes for his bed and scrambles under the covers, clutching them in white-knuckled hands.

He stays there as the thunder clashes and the wind howls and the rain crashes, battling against each other. And then, the lightning starts, and Trent knows he won't be able to make it to Wes' and David's room. He can see everything clearly through the sheets covering his head when the lightning brightens up the room. He is taken back to that first night – the night of his first storm – and the same, old feelings cloud his mind, rendering rational thought impossible. He screws his eyes shut tight, when the thunder and lightning attack in sync, and squeezes his hands over his ears.

He is still huddling under the sheets, trembling and whimpering, when Flint exits the bathroom. Trent can see the bigger boy's silhouette when the room lights up every few seconds. This is one of the worst storms Trent has ever experienced, and the lightning strikes and thunder claps follow each other almost instantly. There's a branch tapping against the glass window, or at least, he hopes it's only a tree branch. He tries not to move or make a sound as he watches Flint walk towards the bed, before he stops, hovering uncertainly.

Then, the thunder booms and the lightning strikes, and the room seems to reverberate. Trent whimpers and his trembling starts anew. He is beyond controlling his reactions, and he is past caring what Flint thinks of him. He wishes he could just fall asleep and sleep through the entire, horrible storm. He can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, seeking an escape. They gently roll down his cheeks.

When the lightning illuminates the room next, Flint is closer, and his hand is reaching out towards the sheet that is Trent's only protection from the wild elements above. Trent's panicked mind mistakes his roommate for a monster; a giant monster reaching out with long talons to rip away his shelter. He cries out, twisting the sheets tighter in his grip and curling up, bracing for this new attack. The sheets are being tugged out of his hands, gentle fingers working Trent's own out of the knots he's made. Trent's breathe hitches and he freezes as the sheets are ever-so-slowly pulled back to reveal his upper body. It takes him a moment for his brain to wake up and recognise Flint before Trent rolls over and clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to see the judgement on his new friend's face.

"Trent," Flint sighs. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Trent doesn't reply, only flinches violently and bites his bottom lip to stop the sob from escaping when another rumble of thunder sounds and lightning strikes. He wants his sheet wall back, so he can hide from the storm. And so he can hide from Flint, who knows now. Knows Trent's most shameful secret.

"You're afraid of storms," Flint summarises.

The larger boy doesn't say anything else after that, just waits for Trent to either confirm or deny, even though it's pretty obvious that he's come to the right conclusion. When Trent doesn't reply, only tries to bury his face deeper into his pillow, Flint reaches a hesitant hand down to rest softly upon the trembling boy's shoulder. Trent startles so badly that his knee knocks against the wall. Flint pulls back quickly.

Tears are escaping from Trent's lids now. Shoulders shaking more violently. He wants to help his roommate – he really does – but he has no idea what to do. Trent won't talk to him and Flint's never been in this sort of situation. Feeling guilty, Flint hops back into his own bed.

Trent's still crying. It's barely audible; muted hitches of breath and muffled sobs. Flint feels worse, just lying there and listening to his new friend hurting. He doesn't last more than a minute before he's out of bed again, hovering over the trembling mass of boy in the opposite bed.

He has no idea what to say – Trent hasn't responded to anything he's said yet. He's saved when Trent mumbles something into his pillow.

"What?" Flint questions, eagerly grasping at any sort of conversation starter; now that's Trent finally started to open up, Flint doesn't want to miss a single word. Trent's next words are barely more than a whisper, and Flint has to lean close to hear them.

"It's true…I'm scared of storms…".

Flint's never really had to comfort anybody before, especially a 16 year high school boy.

"…Well, everyone's scared of something, right?"

Trent hiccups, and Flint's relieved to see that he isn't trembling as much anymore. He's rolled onto his back, one leg bent at the knee and tucked up, and arms crossed over his stomach. He still won't look at Flint, though. Flint notices that the thunder and lightning seem to have lessened.

"Yeah, but I bet not everyone hides under the covers like a scared, little kid".

Trent's not making this easy, but Flint's not giving up either.

"Well, no, but I'm sure you're not the only one. You know what I'm scared of? …Blood".

Trent peeks at him disbelievingly, and Flint is careful not to look away.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I can't stand the sight – or smell – of blood. If someone was bleeding in front of me, I'd probably run away instead of help them. I just can't stand it".

A shudder runs through his body just at the thought of it. He thinks he must be taking Trent's mind off the storm because the other teen hasn't done more than subconsciously flinch at the last few claps of thunder.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is…it's okay to be afraid, and you don't have to be embarrassed…" he trails off, unsure of what else to say.

Trent hesitantly sits up, sniffling.

"You're a really good distraction" he murmurs as he rubs at his blotchy face. "Usually, I go to Wes' room, but…".

Trent shrugs, and Flint guesses he's not so distracted anymore.

"I didn't want you to find out. Only Wes and David know, and that was by accident".

"I told you, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Flint tries to reassure the other teen, but he can tell he's losing this battle.

"Sorry Flint, but that doesn't really help".

Flint can almost feel the bite in his words. Before he can reply, there's a deafening boom overhead, and Trent's whole body jerks before he hunches up, looking like he's ready to burst into instantaneous tears.

"Just go back to bed, Flint. I'll try to keep it down".

Trent curls up underneath the covers again, back to the rest of the room, and Flint knows that he's being shut out. He considers going back to his own bed, but he knows Trent's not going to sleep tonight if the storm keeps up.

So, before he can even think about it, he lifts up the covers of his roommate's bed and hops under. His chest presses against Trent's back because the bed is only built for one person, or maybe two small people. He can feel Trent jump, and he wraps his arms around the other boy before he can escape.

"FLINT! Wh…What are you doing!?"

Trent's squirming. And crying. Flint just wants him to feel safe.

"Quit moving around".

"Well then explain what you are doing in MY bed! You're not gay –

"That's not what this is about… …It's just…when I have to get shots, I always feel better if someone holds my hand. I thought you might feel better if…you looked like you could use a hug".

Trent sighs, and he's still crying, and Flint wonders why he hasn't dried out yet and died from dehydration. At least he's stopped struggling.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Trent asks, sounding resigned, but almost hopeful? Flint thinks.

"Nope," Flint chuckles, knowing that the tides of battle have turned.

"Whatever," Trent huffs, and Flint can hear a hint of the famous sass the other Warblers warned him about.

The storm rages on outside the room, and Trent flinches at almost every crash of thunder and burst of lightning. Flint just holds him tighter every time, and eventually Trent seems to calm down, lulled into sleep by Flint's excess body heat and the protective cocoon he's created.

It's quiet for several minutes, except for the rain still drumming against the roof tiles and window panes, but then a small voice breaks the silence, just before Flint's about to drift off.

"You're a really good distraction".


End file.
